Yet Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves
by StrangeBlueThings
Summary: Dean never knew how deep Sams guilt ran, until it threatens to end his little brothers life.


DEAN NEVER KNEW HOW DEEP SAMS GUILT RAN, UNTIL THIS VERY EMOTION THREATENS TO END HIS BROTHERS LIFE

**YET EACH MAN KILLS THE THING HE LOVES **

"Okay, you go get us some grub and I'll stay here and try this massage mattress over there alright? Awesome."

With that, Dean threw himself on the bed and searched his pockets for money to feed the "wellness" machine. Sam contemplated arguing with him for a second, but decided against it pretty quick. After 11 hours of driving he simply felt too worn out to start a fight with his brother. He let himself out of their current stay and shut the door behind him with a little too much force, pulled his hoodie tighter around his torso and walked in the direction of the diner they saw on their way into town. His breath came out in white, tiny clouds and for the twentieth time today he cursed Dean for making him leave his winter garments in one of their Dads old storage houses because they were taking up too much space in the trunk.

Trying to ignore the bite on his cheeks, Sam tracked the way they came from and crossed a turning into a dark alley when something behind the barely visible dumpsters crashed. Momentarily he halted and squinted, attempting to make out the source of the noise. The alley fell into silence again and he huffed. _Just a cat._

He took another step.

"_Sam."_

He whirled around and stared into the dark path but there was nothing there. The wind picked up, snapping him out of his stupor. He shuddered and practically jogged the rest of the way to the diner. _Jesus, keep yourself together man. Probably just the wind. _

He couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity though. The voice the wind carried scratched at his mind in an unpleasant kind of way. Grabbing the food he'd ordered mindlessly he fast walked the short distance to the motel, taking a different path back to it. Because it was shorter, not due to the creepy black alleyway, of course not. He was a hunter goddammit, he didn't get scared that easy. Definitely _not. _Nonetheless, he downright jumped into their room once it was open and checked the salt lines before he even put the bags down.

"Something wrong Princess?"

"Uh no." Sam coughed.  
"Nothing. Got you a barbecue burger, extra greasy."

Feeling his brothers eyes on his back he forced a smile on his face and unpacked his own food. They sat, eating in silence, but Sam couldn't seem to shake the cold off of him, even though the heater was turned up high.

"You sure everything's fine? You look a little pale there Sammy."

"Dean, I'm fine. Just freaking cold outside."

He didn't want to snap at him, he knew his brother was still worried about him and the whole "over a century in hell" thing , despite the fact that it's been weeks since he's last hallucinated Lucifer.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

With that he went to the bathroom and shoved the door closed behind him. He just couldn't stand the concern at times. It reminded him too much of everything that's happened to him. Yes, He found a way to keep the images that had threatened to drive him to death at bay, managed to stay calm whenever a sliver of hell broke through his reality, but he still knew, still remembered the Cage. All he wanted was to forget it ever happened and Deans poking didn't help him with that at all.

So he did what they always do when they tried to avoid each other: A long, hot shower until the other went to sleep and it was safe to leave the bathroom.

– **S.W. – D.W. – **

_Sam_

He bolted upright in bed and frantically searched the room. The bed beside his was empty, the sheets rumpled and the coldness from outside seemed to have seeped into the room.

When he was certain he had simply dreamt the voice he closed his eyes and sank back into the covers.

Two seconds later his limbs were pulled to each of the bed posts and held there by an invisible force.

"What the he –"

"Sam, Sam, Sam, no swearing in class or you'll be punished severely, although –" A dark amused snicker filled the room.

"You'll be punished no matter how you behave. After all, you nearly almost killed me permanently." And suddenly he was able to match the voice to a face.

"Alistair?" The sting of a blade against his throat shut him up instantly.

"No talking unless I say so dear Sam. The only thing you're allowed to do is scream when I tear the skin from your bones."

His eyes widened, images and sensations from his time in the cage attacking his awareness and then the blade was gone from his neck and brutally shoved into his shoulder.

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

"_SAM!"_

He is held down and pressed into the mattress with two hands on his shoulders. He struggles and squirms but the firm grip on him just won't give.

"Dammit Sammy, snap out of it!"

_Dean. _

His body falls lax under his brothers hands and Sam clings to the feeling of his shoulders getting warm under Deans fingers, chasing the cold away. He lays there and slowly evens his breath out, though his eyes stay squeezed shut, afraid of what he might see once he opens them.

The hand on his scapular wanders up to his face to cup his clammy cheek.

"Sammy? You with me?" Deans voice is as soft as the one he uses on frightened children during a job.

Sam nods and swallows. "Yeah. M'fine."

he rasps, forcing his eyes open to smile reassuringly at his brother. The open concern on Deans face makes him want to shut them again right away. That's all he's been doing these past few years, making him worry, making Dean forget all about his own well being because his little brother is too goddamn stupid to take care of himself. Sometimes, he wonders why Dean had even wanted Sam back, why he still seems to want him to stay.

"You uh – " Dean rakes a hand through his sleep mussed hair, "You want to tell me what this was about? Last time you slept like that was when – before you jumped in. When Lucifer talked to you in your sleep."

He could tell him. He definitely _should_ tell him, he had lied to him too often over the past years anyway. He couldn't though, couldn't make Dean worry about him again if it probably was just some kind of PTSD thing about the stuff he didn't process properly.

"Nothing like that. Just the usual stuff. Go back to sleep Dean."

The dull glow of sleep deprived green eyes vanishes behind heavy lids, years of wariness tattooed on Deans face. He sighs, pats his little brothers cheek and goes back to his own bed.

Sam feigns slumber, but knowing that Dean knew him better than he knew himself, he wasn't surprised to hear him talk a while later.

"Just. . .Tell me if it gets worse, okay?"

Instead of answering he turns his back and presses his face into his pillow in the hopes of avoiding waking Dean once the nightmares take over again.

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

They keep going like this for days.

In the end, Sam is a jumpy, paranoid, over fatigued mess, feeling cold even though the heater in the impala is turned so high Dean feels like he's being baked alive. Sam shivers nonetheless.

Until Dean reaches the point where he'll either has to _make_ Sam talk, or he'd force-inject him the sedative they had in the trunk for "worst case scenario injuries" to at least get him to sleep some of the tension off. After nearly jumping right out of the window because Dean laid a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, he had to know before he got mad.

"That's _it!_" pulling onto the shoulder of the highway he gets out of the car, to the drivers side and hauls Sam out of his seat before he even catches up to what is happening.

"You're gonna tell me what's wrong with you right. The _fuck._ Now. or I swear to God I'll take you to a loony bin!"

Hadn't Sam learned from his past mistakes? Didn't he remember the catastrophic mess they made whenever one of them decided it would be "better" if they kept whatever it was a secret from each other?

"Sam, please." Deans hands release his brothers collar and come to rest on his trembling

shoulders.

"It's –" Sam takes a deep breath, trying to stop his limbs from shaking. "It's nothing really – just uh … very, _very_ vivid nightmares. Don't –"

"Don't you dare tell me not to worry about this, I mean look at you! You look freaking terrified every time I try to get you out of your own head. Is it. . . they're not about Lucifer, are they?"

The very idea of Sams hallucinations returning, the image of his little brother giving up, of him quoting the Devil about how he won't stop until he had taken Sams last shred of hope from him makes his heart clench until it feels like the organ is gonna pulverize itself.

Raking his hands through his sweat damp hair Sam shakes his head. Something like a choked laugh and a sob leaves his throat.

"No, god no, no Satan, promise. But . . . I'm 99% sure it's just my imagination running wild and rationally I know it can't be him but – It's Alistair."

Sam waits for the blaze of anger that he was sure would follow his confession. Instead, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and rubs over the stubble on his cheeks before signalizing his little brother to continue.

"He keeps telling me that I didn't really kill him and that he'll take me back and – " _pick up where the Devil left off. _

Dean turns and walks a few steps. Sam knew what that name triggered in him, what the mention of Alistair forces him to remember every time it comes up. They remain like that for a while, Sam leaning tiredly against the impala, Dean with his back to his brother, staring through the trees fencing the highway. The silence stretches on between them. Sam wishes he could reassure Dean further, wishes he could tell him that they really are just stupid nightmares, that his brain is playing tricks on him again. But they aren't. Though Sammy still refuses to voice that those dreams are more than just bad memories mixed with his greatest fears, he knows that he's just kidding himself. The difference among chimera and premonition is too extreme to not notice it.

"So they're just dreams?" Comes a soft voice, words tinged with doubting hopefulness.

Sighing, he shakes his head.

"Doesn't feel like dreams." He doesn't want to make Dean go there again. It took him over a year to come to terms with what was being done to him in hell and more importantly what he did to others while being in the pit.

"Why do you keep hiding stuff like that from me? You know how it goes, don't you? We hide shit from each other, one of us gets hurt. Or worse."

"I know Dean I shou –" The older Winchester interrupts him forcefully.

"if you know, then _why the hell_ do you keep on hiding!?" By the end of the sentence Dean is yelling, hands fisted at his sides, his jaw tense and eyes dark.

"I just didn't want you to worry about me. You've been doing more than enough of that already."

Sam averts his gaze while he mumbles out those words. No matter how often Dean tells him that he's not a bother, that it is his job to keep him safe and that it didn't annoy him to look after his little brother, he'd still feel guilty about it. Like he took his brothers life away from him just because he existed. As long as he, Sam Winchester, the greatest supernatural freak magnet known to man was alive, his brother would never be able to settle down. Dean had died for him once already, he wouldn't be able to stand it a second time. But some nagging voice in his brain continuously whispers to him that it would be just a matter of time before Dean bit the dust again because of his need to protect his sibling.

"Sammy. I don't need you to protect me. It's my Job to –"

"I KNOW DAMNIT! It's your job to keep me safe, doesn't matter if you get hurt or die as long as your freak little brother is up and kicking everything's just peachy!" With that Sam wrenches the passenger door open and slides inside, the resonating thud of the car door softer than he had intended. Their little dispute had tired him out completely, the days of barely sleeping catching up to him. His breathing is harsh, his head swimming and for the billionth time he just wants to black out for a while, without having to fear the dreams in which the Demon tears him apart piece by piece.

He rests his throbbing head against the cool window and closes his eyes, just as he hears Dean opening the door and slipping behind the wheel once again. He feels his brothers eyes on him even though his are still closed.

"Sammy, I –"

"Please Dean, just drive."

A heavy sigh disturbs the silence, followed by the roaring of the car as Dean starts it.

"You're gonna be okay, I promise."

He can barely hear it over the impalas engine. Sam squeezes his eyes shut tighter and prays for at least an hour of sleep without the disturbing imagines screwing with his mind.

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

Sam sleeps for about 30 minutes until he startles awake with a violent gasp, head crashing against the roof of the impala. Trying to decipher where he is he looks around wildly, his gaze settling on Dean and the steering wheel a second later. Shaking hands push his damp hair from his forehead and his teeth chatter. He feels incredibly cold, like all his warmth had leaked from a wound he could neither see nor feel. Not even Deans leather jacked, which his brother must have thrown over him once he fell asleep seems to help. His fingers fumble stupidly with the heater, but the numb tips of his fingers aren't able to turn it up any higher. A wild tremor shakes his body.

"We'll be at the motel soon Sammy, gonna get you all warm and tucked in there okay?"

Dean says, his voice soft, tentative. As if he is afraid to aggravate him.

The younger Winchester nods and buries himself deeper in his brothers favorite jacked. He can't remember what made him snap out of sleep, though he guesses it must have been a more brutal one of the ever recurring nightmares. Only those left him deathly cold and shaking, terrified about things he couldn't even remember or imagine correctly.

Uncomfortable silence settles between the brothers, both knowing that they have to talk, but neither wanting to. Sam stares out of the window, futilely ignoring the evil throbbing behind his eyes. His endurance slowly vanished into thin air over the course of the last few days, his thoughts were encased in dark, heavy mucous, weighing him down until it was damn near impossible for him to function decently.

Out of the blue appears a bright neon sign, signalizing them the last 500ft. To the motel Dean had been talking about earlier. The light burns his weary eyes, making him groan and press the heels of his hands against his closed lids.

"just a few minutes, then you can get some shut eye." Dean reassures him, knowing full well what awaited his little brother once he let his brain succumb to sleep. Helplessness pulses through him, the inability to make Sam alright hurting him more with every shudder his brother made.

A pink bright arrow leads them to a stop in front of a small apartment-like building. Dean kills the engine and turns to the shivering mess under the worn out dark leather of his jacked. Very gently he lays his hand on a tense, chilly shoulder and rubs soothing circles into the fabric clad flesh with his thumb.

"Think you're gonna be okay here for a few? I'm gonna get us a room, I'll be quick."

"Yeah." his reply is barely discernable, even though everything is still around them. Before Dean can leave the overheated vehicle, a clammy hand grasps his wrist and makes him turn back. Huge hazel eyes stare apologetically, catching Dean off guard.

"Sorry for snapping at you earlier." His small voice instantly softens Dean, his mind conjuring up an image of a tiny, teary eyed, frizzy haired baby Sammy apologizing for drinking the rest of the milk without asking if Dean wanted a sip too. His fingers graze over the hand enclosing his wrist and he smiles.

"It's okay Sam, I get it." With that the hand vanishes back under thick brown leather and dark eyes close, a jaded sigh escaping hidden lips.

The motel looks all kinds of shady, but as long as it has a mattress and warm water it would have to do, he couldn't let Sam sleep in the car tonight.

"Hey ah, I need a room with two twin beds please." 

The clerk grinned maliciously at him. "Oh I bet you do Winchester."  
His eyes turn black and the man jumps him, before he is able to pull the demon knife from his belt. A hard fist to the gut knocks him on his back and the next thing he feels are cold hands around his neck, squeezing every single ounce of oxygen from his body.

"Been waiting for you boys all day, you know? Unfortunately I'm not allowed to kill you, seems like the boss still has something spare for his star-pupil."

Dean's vision swims, his eyes widening in denial. Technically, he should've been unconscious by now from lack of air, but the jumbled images of his drained little brother in the car, defenseless and relying on Dean to protect him makes adrenalin surge through his gasping form. His fingers find the handle of the knife and swiftly, faster than he thought he was capable of, slice through the demons stomach. The black eyed monster shrieks and falls on top of him, its grip loosening around his throat. Without thinking he pushes it off of him and stumbles to his feet, the knife still clutched in his blood smeared hand. Running outside, he finds the passenger door of his baby ripped of its hinges laying a few feet away from the vehicle. The jacked Sammy had tried to fight off the cold with lays discarded on the dirty concrete.

"Sam?"

He frantically turns and searches the parking lot, his brother nowhere in sight. Panic grips his heart and clouds his vision with darkness, makes his breath speed up and his mind paralyze with fear.

Dean fists a hand in his hair, desperation clawing at him, making him crumble and break.

"_SAM!"_

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

Sams eyes snap open hours later, every nerve ending tingling uneasily, warning him that something went horribly wrong in the parking lot.

It takes him a long time to sharpen his focus. Once he has accomplished that, he pleads with whatever beings live upstairs to lose consciousness again. Worn down, with mold corroded gray walls greet him in every point of the compass. There are no windows, only a heavy looking safety door.

More pressing though, is the fact that he hangs suspended from the ceiling with two pairs of rusty shackles. His fingers nearly touch the plaster while his toes barely scrape the ground. Sams head hurts as if someone's been smashing it against a wall. Which wasn't really unlikely, since the Supernatural seemed to experience astounding joy in doing just that whenever he came into contact with one of them.

The jumbled mess of thoughts keeps him distracted from the ever swelling fear inside him. He doesn't need to see the door opening to know who will wait behind it. Knows what is gonna happen before he even sees the vicious devices. His dreams hadn't been evil tricks of his cracked psyche. No, Alistair wanted him to see what he was gonna do to him to blind him, make him vulnerable and easier to catch. Obviously his plan had been successful.

Once the old Metal creaks open, fright overrides his poor attempts at keeping himself calm. A gleaming table is shoved through the entryway. Sam tries not to inspect the utensils that litter the tabletop, though he spots a huge pair of pliers amongst them. Those big ones were usually used to pry open ribcages to expose the heart for further inquiry after someone had died.

His panic spikes up another notch and he fears that once the Demon tries those on him, he wouldn't be able to find his heart under the bones, because it felt as if the organ was firmly lodged in his throat now.

"Good morning Sammy." His captor slides the door shut with an impending crack and turns to him, his lips stretched wide over his face in a gushing smile. Sam keeps quiet and stares him down, showing him that he isn't as afraid of Alistair as he would like him to be.

The Demon tsks and shakes his head mockingly.

"I love my subjects like this. Defiant and proud, the stubbornness in their eyes. Makes it more satisfying when they crumble under my razor. But, the most beautiful thing about all of this is your name, Sam Winchester."

Sam believes what he's saying, sees it in the Demons eyes that there is nothing he enjoys more than a strung up Winchester at his mercy.

"You know, most Demons would be eternally happy if they so much as put a wrinkle in your shirt, let alone stain it with your blood. It definitely is an honor to have the pleasure of having three of your kind in my care."

He tenderly lifts one of the blades and tests its sharpness with the tip of his finger. A light press is enough to split it open and draw blood. Alistair nods contentedly and rubs the bead of blood between his thumb and middle finger.

"And trust me. You _will_ crumble. Just like your father and brother before you, you will break and maybe, I won't even kill you in the end."

Sam snorts, despite himself. Provoking someone who's got you suspended from the ceiling and in possession of an arsenal of sharp objects probably isn't wise, but if he got one trait from his father, it was bullheadedness.

"You do know that most of my life consists of physical injury, right? Stab wounds won't make me cower in a corner and apologize for killing you, but by all means, go ahead."

He expected Alistair to laugh, Sam knows damn well that the Demon plans on doing way more things to him than just poke at him. What he didn't expect was what he said next.

"You think this is vengeance for your attempt to kill me?" He covers his mouth with a hand to hide his grin.

"Hell would be overflowing with captives if I wanted to torture every being that's ever tried to harm me. No, I have very different motives. Every now and then, a human needs to be punished for what he's done to others of his kind, don't you think? More than just getting house arrest for a few years."

Sam can't quite follow, doesn't know where the Demon is going with this. Sure he wasn't always able to save the lives threatened by the supernatural, but he has never hurt anyone on purpose, never willingly. Sans the year he was soulless, of course, but that didn't count, did it?

Alistairs smile sharpens with his prisoners puzzlement.

"I'm talking about one particular human whose life you destroyed the second you were born. Your existence forced him to suppress every dream he's ever had for himself in order to protect you from the evil you attracted all your life. You killed both his parents, you were ungrateful and selfish, he died for you and you kept on hurting him. There is no prison for that kind of thing on earth, so Hell takes pity and sentences those who otherwise wouldn't be by human law."

"Dean. . ." There is a tremor in his voice that ripples first through his vocal folds and subsequently works its way through his flesh, settling deep in his abdomen. Its making him nauseous, his stomach is quivering with fear and... need. Sam had had thoughts like that long before Heaven and Hell even knew of their families existence. Calm settled in his stomach, even as the Demon approached with a thin, needle like blade. Somehow the vision overcame him that it was right he was here in this dark, cold place. That it was right he was being punished for making Dean so miserable.

So, instead of struggling, he let Alistair cut his shirt off. And when the blade touched his skin, instead of dread, relief washed over him.

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

"So tell me Sam, what are you being punished for?"

Alistair was holding his victims head up by his hair. After trying nearly every device on his table, he was back to using the thin blade, which currently rested between the torn flesh of Sams collarbone.

He had to swallow the blood that clogged his throat before he was able to answer.

"Because I hurt my brother."

The Demon patted his head and let it drop until his chin rested against his chest.

"That is correct. And did you atone enough for your crimes yet?"

Sam didn't have to think about that.

"No."

There was barely skin left to slice, but it didn't matter. He still didn't feel as if he had cleared his debts.

Alistair smiled and put the blade away.

"You probably know that your brother is searching for you anyway, don't you?"

A weak nod was answer enough.

"I will call your brother now. You will tell him that he should stop searching. Why you are here and that it is right that you are. Tell him I'll take you back to him once you've settled your debts."

Without waiting for acceptance, though there wasn't a shred of resistance left in Sam anyway, a phone was pressed against his ear and drowned out the ringing in his ears.

It barely beeped once before Dean picked up the phone.

"Sam?"

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

"Dean."

When Dean heard his brothers voice on the other end of the line he could barley keep himself from crying in relief. It's been two days and he knew exactly what Alistair could do to him in just a few minutes.

His voice was raw though, as if he'd been screaming for too long. Solace turned to terror pretty quick then.

"Sammy, where are you,what is he doing, how bad is it? I swear to … I swear I'll use his own fucking razor on him!"

"Just calm down. It's, . . . There's –" a hitch, voice soft, resigned.

"Just tell me where you are I'll get you out of this I swear you're gonna be fine you hear me!" horror grips his heart in its icecold fist, preventing his blood from pumping correctly through him, making him dizzy.

"I –" a shaky exhale. Pause. Sam clears his throat. When he speaks again his voice is drowning in regret, apologies and tears for Dean, for himself, for what happened to their family, for the childhood they never had, the innocence and freedom none of them could experience. All because of him.

"I'm sorry Dean – God just... I'm so fucking sorry. I can't tell you where I am. Plea –"

"Why? Don't you know? Just tell me what you see I'll figure out the rest I'll get you out I pro –"

"_**No! **_You can't come"

"What? What the hell are you talking about of course I'll come."

"No, Dean, you don't understand! I need this!"

"You _what? _What is this bastard doing to you? Don't listen to him Sammy, whatever he's telling you he's a lying son of a bitch! You don't need any of this crap!"

"yes I do." Sams voice has been reduced to an almost soundless murmur. Defeat is quieting him down.

"Sammy listen, why are you talking like that –"

"B_ecause I deserve this_!" loud. Clear. Desperate. Sorrow filled words Dean didn't quite understand.

"What? No Sam –"

"Please. I – I did so many horrible things. To you. I … I need this to forgive myself. Please."

"God Sam don't do this please Sammy –"

Another voice on the phone.

"Hello Dean. I suggest you accept his choice. You won't be able to find him anyway, believe me."

"You sick bastard what are you doing to him?"

He has to unclench his fist in order to prevent himself from crushing his phone between his fingers.

"I showed him the truth. He doesn't deserve your protection right now and I made him see that. Believe me, he's here for his own sake. Plus, he's free to go whenever he wants to, he just has to tell me that he atoned for his sins and I'll bring him back."

Screw 40 years of hell fire and ripped out intestines. This was true torture. Knowing that Sam undergoes agony because he believes he deserves it.

"Tell you what, –" Alistairs drawl filled the speakers of his phone. "I'll do one more thing to him, while you wait on the phone, I'll even put you on speaker, and afterwards, if he says that he feels clean, I'll deliver him to you with a red bow on top, okay?"

The Demon sounds goddamn excited, like a little kid on Christmas eve.

He can't even respond before he hears the phone being laid on top of a probably metallic surface.

"Stop it! I swear I'll find you and when I do you'll wish Sam killed you back then for good you son of a bitch!" He's yelling, on the brink of begging now. He doesn't want to hear Sam cry out, doesn't want to see it in his minds eye, how he bleeds and suffers because he fucking thinks he doesn't deserve anything better.

For a moment, everything's quiet on the other end of the line. Then, there is a disgusting crack, followed by another beat of silence.

And then Sam screams. And he doesn't stop.

Dean does the same, tries to get through to him in order to calm him. He's yelling that he's okay, he's alright, that he can stop now, that he please has to stop now or else.

It takes a while until both of them have shouted themselves mute. The phone gets picked up.

Sam whimpers.

"Sam," Alistair calls.

"Did you redeem yourself now? Can you be forgiven, now that I've splintered your leg to pieces?"

Dean doesn't dare say anything.

Harsh breathes fill his ear and then he answers, and it sounds like a sob.

"No."

"Sam, that's enough –" He's yelling again, but the Demon shuts the loudspeakers.

"You heard your brother. I'm afraid Sam wants to pay with his life. I'm sorry Dean, I really am."

He doesn't sound sorry though, he sounds goddamn ecstatic.

Alistair hangs up, and when Deans fist slices open against the rough concrete of the motel room wall, he welcomes the pain like an old friend.

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

It takes another day to trace the call. The GPS was turned off, and the signal had been barely there during their little chat. He was lucky though. After nearly seven hours and about to smash his other, uninjured fist through the laptop screen Dean was able to locate the signal.

He even begged Castiel for help. Like the pathetic human being the Angels think he is he went straight down to his knees, folded his hands and prayed to god to send help. No one came.

But he can't waste a drop of energy on being angry at his traitorous fellow, not now.

Dean pulls up in front of the old storage unit, calls an ambulance and makes his way inside, down the stairs, until he's standing in front of a dark, old safety door. Putting his shoulder against it he pushes and nearly falls over the threshold. He's got about 10 minutes left until the paramedics arrive.

Alistair is in front of his dangling brother, swiftly pulling his razor over already carved skin. Sam doesn't seem to react at all.

"Step back from my brother, now." He's calm, in a casual fighting stance. The last day has forced him to suppress everything except the need to get to his brother and now that he's found him he can't find it in him to switch his soul back on, so to speak.

The Demon turns and smiles fondly at the older Winchester.

They look a teach other for a second before his opponent sighs and drops his weapon to the blood smeared table next to him.

"I merely wanted to help your brother come to terms with everything. Sams efficiency was suffering under all that guilt."

Dean doesn't acknowledge him with a single gesture.

"Leave," He says quietly while looking at the hanging body.

"Or I'll make you."

The Demon is gone before Dean can blink.

Fortunately, Sam stays unconscious until his brother manages to unchain him and prop is head in his lap. When he tries to instill Sam a little water, it gets coughed right back out, except it's tinged pink after it comes back out of Sams mouth.

"Sam," Dean had never heard himself sound so small and childlike, not even when he was a kid.

"Sam, can you hear me?" His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood, but Dean doesn't mind. He's helped his brother was his hair countless times after he got injured.

Sam breathes stertorously but nods and lifts his hand to grip his brothers'.

The older man doesn't stop soothing his little brother until the paramedics have to forcefully exclude his hand from the other. They put and oxygen mask over his nose then, and that's the first time he notices that he can't hear a single thing except his brothers weak, harsh breathing, that he can't feel anything else but the cooling drops of blood from his own brother on his skin and over his clothes.

They dump him next to Sam during the ride to the hospital, because every time they force him away, Sams heart monitor starts going off like crazy and that seems to upset everyone, Dean included.

They stop, and while Dean gets rolled down the right corridor to get monitored through the night, Sam gets carried away to the left to a heavy door with 'surgery' on it.

He wants to protest, wants to slaughter them for separating him from Sam when he just got him back, but he can't get his mouth to talk and his eyes feel heavier than they ever did. Before the drugs pull him under he prays one futile last time, even though he knows no one is up there to listen.

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

Dean wakes hours later on his side. His gaze instinctively fixates on the brown mop of hair that peeps out between the white sheets and pillows and walls and bandages.

So many bandages cover his brother. Not even his face got spared. He looks more like a patchwork quilt than an actual human being. His left hand is bare though. Unharmed.

Slowly, he props himself up in bed and slips his feet over the edge of it. The cold of the floor doesn't bother him at all.

What does bother him, is that he can't seem to stand up. All he wanted was to walk those 2 feet and grasp his brothers hand and squeeze it and hope he'd squeeze back but he can't. Probably because he didn't eat or sleep or drink anything else but coffee for three days.

So he tries to roll the bed with his feet while sitting on the bed, but the breaks are keeping him from doing that. Without warning, his vision blurs and at first he thinks he's about to pass out because breathing is hard and swallowing is really difficult too. But then there's wetness on his cheeks and no matter how often he wipes it away it gets replaced instantly with new drops of water and his brother wanted to die he wanted to get mutilated to death because calling him a monster once was definitely one time too often and he just wants to take it all back.

Dean wants to take back every harsh word he ever said to his brother, even the ones about his stupid girly hair. He wished Sam was 5 again and could be wrapped in a blanket until nothing but his nose, mouth and the fingers gripping his cup full of hot milk were visible. Sam had always been better after a hot glass of milk, no matter how many _"where's daddy?" _and _"why don't I have a mommy?" _it took.

It takes a unbelievably long time for Dean to pull himself together, longer than he ever needed he thinks. By the time the doctor comes into their room, he's still sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands and his shoulders trembling. When the doc asks if he needs something he guesses he means medicine but that's definitely not what he needs right now.

"I need to, uh –" Is voice is scratchy and watery and absolutely pathetic.

"Can you roll the bed over for me?" A quiet, embarrassed _please_ that the doctor nearly overhears.

Dean doesn't want to talk about Sams condition until they shoved him over to him, so his wish gets fulfilled pretty damn quick. After comes a seemingly infinite list of injuries, infections, fractures, abrasions, bruising, internal bleeding and stops with a _"except for a light limp in his fractured leg he's going to be just fine." _and a not so reassuring smile.

The staff leaves them alone after that, so that he's finally able to grab his brothers hand, avoiding the tubes in it while doing so.

When he falls asleep he dreams of them as kids, racing each other to the impala to determine who'd be allowed to sit in the front seat next to their father.

– **S.W. – D.W. –**

It takes Sam four days and about 11 hours to really wake up. Dean had switched his hospital gown and bed to his own clothes and a really illicit uncomfortable plastic chair.

Thus, when Sam really does squeeze back, Dean feels like a puppy getting his very first bone to chew on he's so goddamn excited.

"Sam? Someone in there?" It's the first time in almost a week that he isn't worried or terrified or hell – crying.

All his brother does is moan weakly and grasp his hand tighter.

"Do you need something? Are you in pain? You want something to drink?"

He knows he probably overexerts his little brother but he can't stop talking. When Sam gurgles out "_drink" _Dean has to control himself to not start tearing up again.

Sam drinks and then there's a flurry of nurses and doctors and pills and when they are finally alone again, none of the two knows what to say.

If Dean is honest, he doesn't want to talk about this at all. Doesn't want to know what drove his brother to such extremes, though he fears he know what – or better – _who._

But they have to. If Sam doesn't crumble because of this, Dean will, if they haven't already.

It took less courage to face the Devil than opening his mouth to start.

"Sam? Do you think... can we talk about this? If you're too tired that's okay of course, just tell me... I need to know what I did to make you think like that. Please."

He twisted his head in his brothers direction at that. It was the first time Sam looked him in the eye since he woke, too, if Dean wasn't mistaken.

"You... Jesus." He scrubbed a shaking hand over his damaged face and started anew.

"_This._ Exactly this. Everything I do, in the end it'll hurt you or make you think you did something, when all you ever do is care to damn much about me!"

He expected his eyes clouding over again, expected a picture book chick flick moment they'd never not be embarrassed about later when Sam was all healed up again, but he didn't expect himself to get so angry.

"Dammit Sam! What the fuck where you thinking, you're my brother it's my job to –"

He didn't expect Sam to counter his anger with his own either.

"YES, it's your job to protect me, you always did, I'm your brother, but what about you Dean huh? Be honest here for once! There are things out there, and they'll never stop chasing me and as long as I'm alive you'll never be able to get what you deserve, to settle down and marry and all that shit, because I'll always be your goddamn job! What have I ever done for you except drag you down with me?"

The older man snatched his hand back and stood.

"You're kidding me right?" Of all the stupid things he's heard in his life, this must be the utmost dumbest of them all. He starts pacing then, unable to contain his rage at his little brother for saying shit like that about his little brother any longer.

"You've saved my life countless times Sam! You had my back when Dad thought there were more important things than helping his own son. You drank demon blood to freaking avenge my death after Lillith killed me. I didn't realize that before, but you did, and instead of thanking you I called you a monster. You let Lucifer wear you as his evening suit so I didn't have to let Michael do the exact same thing to me, to say nothing of saving the whole damn world."

His anger deflate when he stops to take a breath and sees Sam getting smaller and smaller in his hospital bed, until he looks like he's 11 years old again.

His voice softens as he keeps speaking.

"You took your soul back, even though you knew you could die because of it... for me."

Taking a seat again he looks at Sam and grins, even though he felt like breaking down completely at Sams disbelieving and defiant look.

"Don't you get it? Do you really think I'd want to be here if you weren't? I swear on my baby, the day you're gone... and I can't find a way to bring you back, I'll follow right after you, you got it?"

His smile falters when the brick in his throat threatens to choke Dean.

"I really can't do this without you Sam, I mean it."

Sam looked down, hiding behind his too long hair.

"You left out all the parts where every noble thing I did turned to shit" he mumbled, while dark dots formed on the white sheets.

"Yeah, well... We get out on top every time, didn't we?" He puts his grin back on and nudges his brother cautiously with his fist.

A quiet snort. "Yeah. We kinda did."

Before the mood got too light Dean had to add something to the stuff he's said before.

"You know I'll never stop protecting you, even if I have to protect you from yourself Sam."

An embarrassed sniffle follows his sentence. "Okay." Sam breathes and then it's time for Dean to lighten the mood before he joined his brothers with his own pair of watery eyes.

"I swear I'll just put you in the trunk and never let you out again you idiot."

That rose a laugh out of his little brother and that, in turn, lightened everything in and around him. He'd feared to never hear him laugh again for quite a few days.

Sam wiped his face before he lifted his head and settled back in his pillows.

"I'd like to see you try." His voice is heavy, as are his eyelids, so Dean settles back as well and takes is hand again for another reassuring squeeze.

"Just sleep it off Sam, it'll be all better tomorrow."

_mmh-mmh _is the only reply he gets before his brother sinks back into slumber.

Dean was afraid that this was something they couldn't overcome, that these wounds ran too deep in Sam to ever heal, but he had smiled today, and that was the only reassurance Dean needed to know that they could fix this.


End file.
